


starsick

by sapphicbecca



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alpha Centauri (Good Omens), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, You go too fast for me Crowley, aka the line that murdered me three times over, aziraphale and crowley go stargazing, based off a really obscure song sorry, bookshop scenes and getting drunk and then getting sober again, i havent written fanfic in three years so bear with me, i researched astronomy for this and i wasnt happy about the results, really i swear this was just writing practice i dont know what happened, so i threw in a few fun miracles, theres not really a plot just me crying into my keyboard, what tags do u all use, yelling at god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-10 08:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicbecca/pseuds/sapphicbecca
Summary: “Do you think they’ll try again?” Aziraphale asked.





	1. aziraphale's first mid-life crisis

_i’ve got a plan, for how we’ll run the world_

It was like this: 

The world was supposed to end - wasn’t it? They were told, again and again, that was God’s plan. Make the world, create life, a garden. Allow life to fill up the earth, to thrive and build and grow. Give them free will, maybe. Six thousand years of pure life, and then - that was it. Pull the plug. Plunge the sword. Light the match. Time’s up. Game over. 

Six thousand years came and went. The world didn’t end. Does that mean they were all granted another six thousand years? Or does it mean the end of the world was still hovering on the horizon, lost without a fixed date, but never completely gone? Does it mean the apocalypse could come back at any moment? 

An angel and a demon who stayed behind on the earth when Armageddon was pushed back were asking those same questions. They weren’t getting any answers. 

“Do you think they’ll try again?” Aziraphale asked. It was one in the morning, and they were in the bookshop. They had returned there after a dine at the Ritz, celebrating the fact that the world had been saved, and the fact that they’d successfully tricked their former employers. Several empty bottles of wine now sat near-forgotten on the table in front of them. His hand shook slightly as he set down his wine glass, and the soft candlelight that barely illuminated the room twinkled on the ring that had been on his pinky longer than London had stood. 

“Whaddya mean?” Crowley looked up from the glass of wine that he’d been sloshing back and forth more and more as he slowly grew increasingly intoxicated. His words were only slightly slurred, an impressive feat considering how much he’d had to drink. 

Aziraphale didn’t answer right away, instead fidgeting with his hands and pressing his lips together. Crowley straightened up (ha) and looked Aziraphale in the eyes. Next to him, wine bottles slowly and quietly began to fill back up. 

“I just-” Aziraphale started, and then stopped again, frustrated with how his words were forming. Crowley waited patiently. The room was hushed, completely quiet and still, and the only things that moved were the minute specks of dust, disturbed by previous movements and looking for a new place to settle. 

“Yes?” Crowley said encouragingly, after the silence had stretched on a second too long. He leaned in, shifting imperceptibly closer to Aziraphale. 

“I just wonder…” Aziraphale paused again, then continued. “I just wonder if this is really the end. I mean that, the angels didn’t get their war. Will your side - your _old_ side,” he corrected himself, seeing the look on Crowley’s face, “will they plant another Antichrist on Earth? Can there even be a second Antichrist? If so, how much longer have we got until then? It’s just that there isn’t really a timeline anymore, and I mean - it’s like you said, did the Almighty plan it like this all along? Did She really want the world to not end, or is She angry at us for stopping Armageddon? What if this was all just a trial run, a first experiment? It’s just the question of what happens next that I-” At this point, Aziraphale became aware of the fact that he was rambling. He stopped speaking abruptly and sat back down into his armchair. He hadn’t even realized he’d stood up. The wine bottles, already half full next to him, began to fill up more. Crowley leaned back into the sofa, absorbing Aziraphale’s rushed words. 

“I think,” he said after a congested silence, “that there’s no way to know what She wants or what She has planned. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying for millennia?” 

“It’s ineffable,” Aziraphale whispered quietly in response, a tiny blush spreading across his cheeks.   
“Exactly,” Crowley said, gesturing to who-knows-what with his free hand. “It’s ineffable, your damned favorite word. So, I mean, who knows? You’re probably asking the most unknowable questions in the entire universe right now. Gabriel in all likelihood doesn’t even know the answers to those. Beezlebub _definitely_ doesn’t.” Crowley took a sip from his wine glass and Aziraphale gave a small chuckle. 

“I suppose you’re right, but it’s all so terribly disconcerting, isn’t it? Six thousand years of having a plan, and now - there’s nothing, isn’t there?” Aziraphale smiled to himself. “Just the two of us, stumbling wildly in the dark.” 

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t been in the dark this whole time,” Crowley muttered under his breath. Aziraphale gave him a sharp look, but they both just took another sip of wine. 

A long, pregnant pause. And then- 

“What would you do, though?” 

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, who took a deep breath before taking off his sunglasses and continuing. 

“If they did put another Antichrist on Earth and if the world was going to end, again. What would you do?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, scanning his face for any signs of an answer. 

“I suppose I would try to stop them again. Wouldn’t you?” Aziraphale asked. He was now very determinedly not looking at Crowley. 

“Say we couldn’t. Maybe they’re guarding the Antichrist this time. Not leaving it up to possibility or chance like last time, and definitely not letting those bloody nuns mix up the babies. Say the end of the world was completely inevitable this time. What would you do?” Crowley set down his glass and kept looking, looking, looking at Aziraphale. 

“I guess I don’t quite know,” Aziraphale said, trying to mull it all over, “but I suppose I’d just try to enjoy Earth as much as I could before it was destroyed.” 

“But then what?” Crowley asked. His voice had changed, suddenly brimming to the top with emotion. Aziraphale stopped staring into his wine and looked at Crowley. His heart skipped a beat, seeing Crowley’s written all over his face. In a second he understood what was going on, and set down his wine as well.

“Alpha Centauri.” Aziraphale said. It wasn’t an answer, but wasn’t a question either. “That’s what you want me to say.” 

“Would you, angel? If all the shit we just went through happens again, would your answer be different this time around?” Crowley was barely able to spit out the words, clinging to his last lifeline. He was nearly completely sober and all he needed was Aziraphale’s answer. 

Aziraphale was quiet. That had been the theme of the conversation, hadn’t it? Loud, impassioned outbursts and then unbreakably long and frustratingly _quiet_ stretches of silence. Of words unsaid, questions unanswered, thoughts unknown. Aziraphale swallowed, a tremor going through his whole body. He looked at Crowley. He looked at Crowley. He looked at Crowley. 

“Yes,” he said.


	2. are you there, god? it's me, your bastard child-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Great Plan? God, you listening? Show me a Great Plan…”

_i was watching tv, then i was talking to god,_ _  
_

It was like this: 

Crowley was in his flat. The end of the world had been diverted a week ago. He was sprawled out on his black sofa, the television flickering and lighting up the dark room with some old muted reruns. His fingers drummed restlessly against his knees. His sunglasses laid discarded on the end table. Music played softly and lazily from the record player in the background. Crowley hadn’t left his flat in about a day, and he hadn’t seen Aziraphale in two days. 

Two days. Should be nothing, compared to centuries and millennia of not seeing each other. 

Crowley lifted his head up and looked warily at the television. It had been a week since their respective stunts in Heaven and Hell, and no word since then. Crowley supposed he half expected Hastur or some other demonic entity to take over one of the characters on the screen, to get reprimanded or punished or given orders once more. 

Crowley wasn’t quite sure what to do with all the free time, all the lack of orders. He guessed this is what Aziraphale had been feeling just twenty-hours after the near-apocalypse, all that talk of _what next?_ and _what if?_ Being released from Heaven’s tight and all-controlling grip must be far worse and infinitely more disconcerting than essentially quitting a day job from Hell. If he was feeling this on edge after a week of being let loose from Hell, he couldn’t imagine how agitated Aziraphale must be. Crowley remembered how fidgety he was during their last conversation, and-

Alpha Centauri. Crowley sighed and closed his eyes as the memory bubbled back up. Aziraphale had refused to elaborate beyond his quiet _yes,_ choosing instead to sip the rest of his wine in silence until they both decided they ought to get some rest, but Crowley thought he understood. Everything was different now, and they were on their own side. Maybe they’d have another six thousand years, maybe they’d get two weeks. And if it did all go to shit, they had a plan now. An escape route. A way to survive. A new life, together, off in the stars. 

Of course, Aziraphale’s answer could have been out of pure necessity. Of _course,_ he’d have to escape the Earth if it all went under. It wasn’t as if he could just go back up to Heaven, and Crowley couldn’t just saunter back into Hell. 

Crowley groaned and shook his head slightly, pressing his fingers to his temple. What he was _not_ going to do was brood and try to figure out Aziraphale’s real motives, especially in such a hypothetical situation. He looked at the television again, silent pixels playing actors playing characters. No secret messages, no hijacking, no under the radar memos from down below. The music in the back continued to be the only source of sound in the room. Crowley wrenched his gaze away from the pixel people and noticed a piece of paper sticking out slightly from underneath his couch. He leaned down carefully, back aching, and picked it up. 

Immediately he was thrust into another memory, pages of planets swirling around him as he had desperately tried to find a new home for himself and Aziraphale. The moon, Sirius B, Alpha Centauri, Luhman 16, Gallifrey, Proxima Centauri- 

“Great Plan? God, you listening? Show me a Great Plan…” Crowley had clung to his chair, whisking all the pages and possibilities away from him. He’d looked up into his high and unreachable ceiling, and knew he could never know if She had been listening, or if She had ever listened at all. Wasn’t fair, was it, that the only time She had listened was when he was saying all the wrong things and asking all the wrong questions? 

Now Crowley was sitting on the cold floor, holding a crumpled illustration of Alpha Centauri, refusing to let himself think of all the things he could have said differently the first time around. He leaned his head against the worn-in couch, looking up once more past his grey ceiling, as though gazing straight through into the heavens, and wishing and imagining that She was listening. 

“Tell me this,” he started softly, as the music faded to nothing, “was it all a test? I know you said you were going to test them, but is it over?” He scoffed to himself before continuing, “Is it ever really over?” 

His words echoed across the empty marble walls. No reply from above. Of course. He didn’t expect anything different. Crowley could imagine a lot of things into existence, but God’s attention (and Her love) would never be one of them. 

And it was also like this: 

Aziraphale was in the bookshop. A.Z. Fell & Co., and maybe he hadn’t quite fully thought out the implications behind the name. Mainly, he didn’t want to. 

He hadn’t seen Crowley in two days. A short amount of time, really. A blink of an eye compared to centuries apart. But it was also the longest they’d spent apart since the beginning of all the Armageddon business. Perhaps he could just call, just check in…no. Crowley was a grown demon. He could handle himself. And anyway, all the danger had passed, hadn’t it? 

Aziraphale grudgingly picked himself up out of the comfortable chair in the back of the shop, and slowly made his way up to the front. It was half-past seven in the evening, so he decided he would open up, just for a short while. The streets were near-deserted anyway, so no harm done in a flipped sign if no one came in, anyway. 

He wandered back to the register, tidying up book displays as he went along. He glanced at the phone sitting there, and looked away. No use in calling. If Crowley wanted to see him, he ought to call. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s responsibility to stay in touch, was it? No. So there was no use in feeling reluctant straying too far from the phone, and thinking that maybe, there would be no real harm if he just picked up and dialed. Just to check in. Perhaps invite him over for a drink. That’s all. 

The bell at the front of the shop tinkled gleefully and Aziraphale looked up, immediately distracted. A young, innocent-looking, and thoroughly unsuspecting woman walked through the door. A customer, otherwise known as Aziraphale’s true adversary. 

Ten minutes later, she was leaving in a hurry, and as Aziraphale closed the door behind her, he hastily flipped the sign back to close the shop. Much too close a call, as the young woman was far too knowledgeable and interested in Ancient Greek poetry for Aziraphale’s liking.  
It was dark outside now, with all the street occupants headed home for the night, and Aziraphale’s thoughts wandered back to another dark night, out on a bus stop bench. 

_“You can stay at my place, if you like,”_ Crowley’s face had been open, unguarded. 

Aziraphale quickly shook himself out of the memory. He slowly wound his way through piles of books to get back to his quiet room in the back. Candles in precarious spots gave the room a soft and calming glow, and Aziraphale settled himself back into his armchair, cupping his angel wings mug that was now full of perfectly hot tea. He had some exciting new first editions that had come in a shipment just the other day that would be perfect for looking over for a few hours tonight before turning in, and yet, he could not stop looking over at the phone. Which was useless. Looking at it wasn’t going to do anything, Aziraphale chided himself silently, and opened up the latest addition to his collection, taking a calm sip of his tea. He read the first line of the book. 

Twenty minutes later, his tea was finished and he wasn’t any farther into the book. He read the first line over and over and over again and didn’t absorb a word, his thoughts persistently staying elsewhere. Aziraphale went to take another sip of his tea and discovered the mug was wholly empty. Frowning, he began to stand, intending to make more tea. Instead, he stood up and saw the phone, _again._ His resolve was low and crumbling and he set down his mug. 

Aziraphale walked over but hadn’t even begun to dial before the phone began to ring in his hand. Fumbling, hardly daring to hope, he lifted it up and put it to his ear. 

“Hello?” Aziraphale asked, nearly out of breath. 

“Hey, angel,” Crowley replied, “What’re you up to?” 


	3. I Came Here To Look At Stars But I Only Want To Look At You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tore his eyes away from the stars to look down at Aziraphale.

_ and i feel so damn carsick, driving your speed babe, cut you off _

And it was like this: 

The Bentley roared to life and took off down the road, with Crowley grinning behind the wheel and Aziraphale holding onto the seat for dear life. The night was young, but not too young, and the pair had a few things they wanted to do before the sun came back in the morning. After all, the world had almost ended. They deserved to jump at any and every opportunity to live a little. 

“Must you go so-” Aziraphale quickly swallowed his words, immediately blushing and training his eyes out the window. 

“What?” Crowley asked, looking over. 

“Eyes on the road,” Aziraphale snapped, “and it wouldn’t kill you to go to the speed limit, would it?” he added, carefully phrasing his words. 

“I don’t know, angel,” Crowley said with a roll of his eyes, “that just might do me in, and anyway, lots of places to get to before dawn, right?” In response, Aziraphale merely huffed and continued to look out the window. Crowley chanced another glance over, and then focused back on the road, a smile dancing on his lips. 

They raced around another corner, down an empty street, past houses full of people fast asleep. The streetlights blinked by in the window’s reflection, and the car was silent except for the faint hum of the motor. After some long minutes, Aziraphale looked away from the window and back over at Crowley, who had actually managed to keep his eyes on the road. Unable to stand the silence much longer, he spoke. 

“Should we turn on the radio, my dear?” He continuing looking at Crowley

“I haven’t had anything new in the car for a few weeks, so it’ll all likely be the same by now,” he said, looking ahead with a nonchalant shrug. Aziraphale nodded slowly, pretending he understood what that meant, and decided against turning on the radio. The car was silent again. 

A few short eternities later, Crowley pulled off the main road and onto an unpaved road, which, despite being bumpy and full of rocks and mud, was still a smooth ride that did not scratch or dirty up the Bentley in any way. They rolled along this path for a while, the trees around them getting thicker and the city lights behind them getting dimmer. Soon, the only sources of light were the car headlights, the flickering lightning bugs, and the stars up above. The darkness between the trees that surrounded them seemed to go on forever, as did the shadowed road ahead. 

But it didn’t really go on forever, and eventually the Bentley pulled into a clearing that led to the edge of a cliff. Crowley stopped the car a few meters away from the edge, and hopped out, Aziraphale following him. Silently, Crowley strolled up to the precipice and tilted his head up. At this point, it was the complete dead of night and they were miles away from any signs of civilization. The moon wasn’t out either, so the stars had the full reign of the sky. 

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale said. He’d walked up behind Crowley and had also looked up to see the heavens splayed out above them. Crowley tore his eyes away from the stars to look down at Aziraphale, and he smiled. 

With a snap of his fingers, a cozy blanket came into existence on the soft grass beneath them, complete with a picnic basket, likely containing some fine wine and a well-thought out selection of snacks. Crowley plopped down without a second thought, immediately stretching out and looking back up at the stars.

“Why, thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, sitting down next to him and slowly laying down as well. 

“See that bright one, there?” Crowley said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He pointed up, tracing a path. Aziraphale nodded, and then remembered they were in the dark. 

“Yes,” he said quickly, “right past that tree branch?” 

“It’s a galaxy,” Crowley stated, “and I designed her.” Aziraphale sat up a little to turn and look at him. 

“I didn’t know you’d created whole galaxies,” he said, a little accusatory. Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug. 

“I did a lot before I Fell,” he said, and then pressed on, saying, “Anyway, the humans named her Andromeda, after that princess from Aethiopeia. Remember her?” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed. “Of course I do. The Greeks never stopped talking about her husband, did they?” 

“I suppose not,” Crowley said. After a beat he reached up to take off his sunglasses, placing them on the picnic basket, and then folded his hands behind his head. 

“So, how many galaxies did you build?” Aziraphale asked, his voice reserved. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crowley said, evasive. “Lots, I suppose. Spent most of my time up there spinning out nebulae and constellations and the like. Lost track of all of them over time, I guess, and now they’re scattered across the whole universe. Just got lucky that one my galaxies happened to be even slightly close to Earth, where I can keep an eye on her.” 

“Can we see any others of yours from here?” 

“Yes! Well - sort of. Hold on.” Crowley sat up and pressed his fingers to his temple. Above them, the sky shimmered and the stars began to move through the sky, no longer held in place by the laws of physics. For a second, they flew across the heavens before settling down and slowing to a stop. 

“Crowley, that was-” 

“Most of my stuff is much more visible down in the Southern Hemisphere,” Crowley said, laying back down with a grin. “Alright, look there - humans call it the Magellanic Cloud, ‘cause by their standards, it’s an irregular galaxy. That’s just because it was one of the first I ever made. And up there,” Crowley pointed up directly above them, “is Centaurus A. Easily one of my favorites,” he finished, no longer attempting to bury the pride in his voice. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Aziraphale said, “and the name sounds awfully familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it.” Next to him, Crowley tensed up. 

“Ah, yeah, it would,” he said, shifting slightly and moving his arm to point slightly lower. “It’s in the Centaurus constellation, and if you look down there at the feet of the Centaur - the hooves? Doesn’t matter. Anyway, that’s Alpha Centauri.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and added, a little breathless, “It looks incredible. Did you create that, too?” 

“I, uh - yeah. I did. Quick little binary star system. One of the closest to Earth.” 

“How wonderful,” Aziraphale smiled, taking in all the stars above. Crowley turned to look at him, and was unable to keep his thoughts in a second longer. 

“Angel, when you - what you said the other day, I don’t - did you mean that-” Crowley tumbled and fell over his words. Aziraphale turned to him, concerned. 

“Did I mean what?” he asked timidly. 

“When you said yes. That if there was a second Armageddon, your answer to Alpha Centauri would be different. That you’d come with me.” 

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale began, a bit stern, “what do you think I meant?” 

Crowley shrank. “I just - was it from a place of necessity? Or because you want to?” 

“I, well-” Aziraphale felt displaced. “A bit of both, isn’t it? For both you and me?” 

“Oh,” said Crowley, “okay.” 

“I just meant that-”

“I got what you meant, Aziraphale.” 

“Well - alright, then.” Aziraphale trained his eyes back on the heavens above them. Crowley did the same. Neither spoke. After the late start and long drive, the sky was beginning to lighten, ever so slowly. Crowley pressed his eyes closed for a moment and the stars continued their rotation. Like a grade school planetarium, the celestial bodies in the sky rolled through space, constellations and galaxies and nebulae all casually and precisely traveling by. 

They stayed and watched the stars dance by with no music until the sky began to grow more lilac than deep blue, and streaks of pink and orange slashed the heavens open, all while the stars faded away. Before they knew it, the sun was up, and the stars slowed back to a stop, going back to where they were supposed to stay. 

Crowley reached over and put his sunglasses back on. He stood up, got off the blanket, and Aziraphale quietly did the same. With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, the blanket and basket quickly went back to their much simpler state of nonexistence. Crowley took one last look at the sunrise above them, and turned away. 

They got back in the Bentley. Aziraphale gave the speedometer a slightly anxious glance, and Crowley followed his gaze, and softened. 

“Don’t worry, angel,” he said, his voice strained and gentle, “I won’t go too fast.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u read this far - thank u!! i haven't written fanfic in like three years so its wild to me that this is actually up here!! i may write more for this ! stay tuned 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @thirteenthdyke !


	4. constructing some intricate rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But this was the dance they did - run together and collide, skirt around a realization, manage to say the perfectly wrong thing, and then eventually drift together again, putting it all in the past, as if it never happened.  
> Crowley could remember a lot of things that never happened.

_and i get a little starsick, when we talk about love_ _  
_ _cause I don't know a thing about love_

So, it was like this: 

The car ride back was quiet. The stretches of dawn reached out above them, and Crowley firmly kept his eyes looking out of the car, on the road and on the sunrise. They'd just pulled out of the forest path and onto the main road before the silence was broken. 

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, no louder than a whisper. Crowley glanced at him, then quickly looked back at the road. 

"Yeah, of course," he said automatically. 

"What you did with the stars, it was truly incredible, my dear. I've never seen anything like that," Aziraphale smiled.

"I - uh, thanks," Crowley said, squirming in his seat, and finding it harder to continue staring at the road. He wouldn't quite know how to explain it, if asked, but Crowley felt some of the tension from earlier start to slip away. Not all of it, and not permanently, but this was the dance they did - run together and collide, skirt around a realization, manage to say the perfectly wrong thing, and then eventually drift together again, putting it all in the past, as if it never happened. 

Crowley could remember a lot of things that never happened. 

The Bentley turned a corner, and Aziraphale gave a little start and clutched the seat as the car sped up. Before long, they had cruised back into London, and Soho and the bookshop drew ever closer. The street was still mostly empty when Crowley pulled up outside, populated only by those who prided themselves in being early risers, and those still on their way home after a long night out. 

"Well," Crowley started, after they'd been stopped for a moment and Aziraphale still hadn't moved. 

"Oh! Right, of course," Aziraphale said, collecting himself, "I, erm, don't suppose you want to -?" 

"Can't," Crowley said swiftly, "I've got to get home, check up on the plants. They haven't been behaving lately." 

"Of course," Aziraphale said, and then slowly opened up the car door. "Well, I suppose I should-" 

"I'll see you around, angel," Crowley said, a certain sense of finality lingering in his voice. 

"Right," Aziraphale said, getting out, "I'll see you soon, I'm sure?" 

Crowley just nodded. Aziraphale closed the door and the Bentley sped off, leaving Aziraphale on the doorstep of his shop, suddenly feeling very alone. 

Crowley sped back to his apartment, willing the roads to be shorter and for pedestrians to steer clear. The last colorful remains of the sunrise had faded, and the sky above was a plain, bright blue. Nothing much else to focus on except the ever-obeying road. Nothing he wanted to focus on, anyway. He soon pulled up to his flat and hopped out. The Bentley locked itself as Crowley strode up to his door and let himself in. 

"What are you looking at?" He snapped at a nearby fern, who then began quivering. Crowley rolled his eyes and made his way over to the couch, where he sprawled out, tossing his sunglasses onto the coffee table. 

He didn't know what to think. He did know that he'd cut their little dance short, that when he left it meant he hadn't accepted Aziraphale's unspoken apology. He was getting sick of things being unspoken. That's all they ever had, it felt like, six thousand years of hidden messages buried in mundane words. 

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

Maybe he shouldn't have brought that up. They could both pretend it was about the speed of his driving as much as they wanted, and they could both privately know it was about something else entirely. Crowley groaned and rolled over on the couch, shoving his face into a pillow. The whole thing was overwhelmingly dumb. They had no reason to continue jumping through hoops and speaking in a code only they secretly knew now that Heaven and Hell were no longer breathing down their backs, but instead, they carried on. It was getting exhausting. 

Maybe he'd just take a nap. 

And it was like this: 

Aziraphale didn't really know what to do with himself when he saw the Bentley driving away. Still a little stunned by Crowley rejecting his offer (that wasn't how things were supposed to go, that's not-), Aziraphale slowly walked up the steps and opened the door into the bookshop, briefly comforted by the familiar jingle of the bell. He locked the door, and stepped into the bookshop, wandering among the shelves and running his hand over the worn covers of his books. He was hoping maybe a certain title would jump out at him, something helpful or introspective or comforting, but no such book stood out. Aziraphale sighed and headed into the back room, where a warm mug of hot cocoa suddenly found itself waiting for him. 

Aziraphale wasted the night away sipping his cocoa and rereading some of his favorites from A.A. Milne. He already had most of them memorized, but a bit of comfort reading never hurt anyone. The soft candlelight made the pages of the books a warm, buttery yellow, the words almost melting off the paper. Aziraphale chose to focus on these lovely small details, very pointedly not thinking about his phone, and not thinking about Crowley calling. 

He spent about three days and fifteen cups of hot cocoa making his very strong point of not calling Crowley. But eventually, Aziraphale put down his book and thought to himself that really, this whole thing was ridiculous, and it had been ages since they'd gone out to eat, he was inexplicably craving the Ritz again, and it wasn’t like _he_ was just going to miracle an empty table for himself into the restaurant. It was, of course, entirely possible that he’d completely misinterpreted Crowley’s signals. Perhaps his houseplants really were acting up. Aziraphale crossed the small room and his hand hovered over the phone for just a second, waiting for the minuscule possibility of another tiny miracle. It did not ring. Aziraphale picked it up and dialed. 

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. And eventually-

"Hi. This is Anthony Crowley." 

"Crowley! It's me-"

"Uh. I'm probably not in right now, or asleep, and busy, or something, but leave a message after the tone and I'll get right back to you. Ciao." The message ended and the phone emitted a low beep. Aziraphale stood stunned for a moment, and then, pursing his lips, placed the phone firmly back into its cradle. He stalked away back to his book, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling of disappointment beginning to form in his stomach. A few hours later, he realized he probably should have left a message. He'd just have to try again later. 

Aziraphale spent the next two nights puzzling over some old copies of the Bible he'd received. The seller had sworn up and down that they were misprinted, but Aziraphale had yet to spot the error. He sighed, taking off his reading glasses to rub at his weary eyes, which of course wandered back over to his phone. There really couldn't be any harm in ringing him a second time, could there? Especially when he hadn't left a message the first time (or, he was pretty sure he hadn't, he wasn't completely sure he knew how those answering machines worked). 

Aziraphale got up and picked up the phone, dialing once more. The phone rang and rang and-

"Hi. This is Anthony Crowley. Uh. I'm probably not in right now-" 

"Crowley? Are you-"

"-but leave a message after the tone and I'll get right back to you. Ciao." The phone let out that low beep again. 

"Crowley, it's Aziraphale, the angel. Where are you?" Aziraphale tried to think of something else to say but couldn't quite conjure up the words he needed. With a sigh, he put down the phone again, the receiver giving a small _click_ as the phone shifted back into place. 

Two more days, eight cups of cocoa, and approximately ten voicemails later, Aziraphale was getting a little fed up with it all. 

And finally, it was like this: 

Crowley awoke suddenly to frantic knocking coming from his front door. He blinked a few times, eyes still heavy with sleep. 

"Who's there?" He mumbled, slurring his words. 

"Crowley, it's me!" A worried voice came from outside the door. Crowley froze. How long had he been asleep? 

"Aziraphale-" He murmured, still trying to shake off his incessant drowsiness. 

"Please, let me in, or I'll - I'll-! Oh, I'm just going to come in!" 

"Wait!" Crowley jumped up. The door slammed open and Aziraphale, looking reasonably irritated, burst into the main room before Crowley could stop him, walking right past the couch. 

"It's been a week, Crowley, and it's not fair for you to - um." 

Crowley stood behind him, wincing. Aziraphale slowly turned back to look at him. 

"Crowley. Why do you have a throne?" (Aziraphale had, of course, been to Crowley's flat before, but Crowley had always had much more time to prepare.) 

Crowley snapped his fingers. "What throne?" 

"That's cheating!" Aziraphale said, whirling back around to see the now nonexistent throne. 

"S'not." 

“ _Anyway_ , I came here to talk to you." 

"About?" 

"Where you've been! It's been a week, and you haven't answered any of my calls, and-" Aziraphale's expression shifted- "I was starting to worry. What with, you know, Armageddon, and disobeying Heaven and Hell, and all that," he finished, wringing his hands. Crowley looked down at the ground. 

"I'm sorry, angel. I've just been sleeping," Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You-" Aziraphale stopped to really look up and down at Crowley. "Good lord, you're still wearing the same clothes, really? You've been sleeping since you dropped me off at the bookshop?" 

"Ngh. Something like that," Crowley muttered, eyes still trained on the floor. 

"Why?" Aziraphale crossed his arms. 

"Armageddon wore me out more than I realized," Crowley lied. 

"Armageddon was two weeks ago." 

"I realize that now, yes. I've really only been asleep for a week?" Crowley yawned and stretched his arms up, feigning nonchalance. Aziraphale looked affronted. 

" _Only_ a week, my dear boy?" 

"Yeah, I was planning on a month or so, I guess," Crowley shrugged, and then plopped back down on the couch. Aziraphale shuffled over to stand by him but did not sit. 

"Are your plants behaving?" Aziraphale asked. 

"What?" Crowley squinted up at him. 

"When you dropped me off at the bookshop, you said you had to get home - to check up on your miscreant plants?" Aziraphale gave him a side glance. 

"Yeah, yeah, they're behaving, if they know what's best for them," Crowley answered, getting flustered. 

“Good,” Aziraphale said, wandering over to some of the taller leafy plants in the corner, “and they look lovely, by the way.” 

“Don’t you go being nice to them, they’ll get the complete wrong idea,” Crowley groaned, “and I’m not gonna put up with a bunch of spoiled rotten houseplants.” 

“Whatever you say, my dear,” Aziraphale said leniently, leaning down to run his hand along a particularly smooth leaf. 

“I’m serious,” Crowley grumbled, sliding further down into the couch. 

So this was it then, he thought. A disturbance, a mistake, and back to the dance. They always ended up back here, no matter the size or seriousness of the argument or the issue, they’d always go back to light banter and an unspoken agreement to not speak. Well, he couldn’t say he was surprised. 

“Want something to drink, angel? I should still have a few good bottles left somewhere.” Crowley sat up, watching Aziraphale turn around, beaming. 

“I’d like that very much, my dear, thank you!” 

Several glasses of wine later, the two of them sat contentedly on the floor, leaning against the couch. The banter and laughter had trailed off awhile ago, and now they were simply enjoying the silence, which was, for once, a comfortable one. Crowley put his finally empty glass on the coffee table next to his sunglasses, then leaned back, arms folded behind his head. Aziraphale's eyes lazily traced his movements. 

"Do you," Aziraphale said, then paused before continuing his breaking of the silence, "do you think things were always going to go this way?" 

"What do you mean?" Crowley asked, craning his head to look at Aziraphale. 

"With Armageddon. I've been thinking it all over, you know, since I've had so much spare time-" he gave Crowley a pointed look- "I came to realize how many coincidences were involved." 

"Everything's coincidence when you get into it, angel," Crowley said airily. 

"But it's more than just the baby switch, my dear, there were so many terribly unlikely things that saved the world." Aziraphale bit his lip. "It makes me wonder if maybe...She had planned it this way all along." 

Crowley looked up at the ceiling like he was trying to see straight into the heavens. "I suppose anything's possible," he said after a long pause, "but it's an awful lot of trouble to go to, planning an Armageddon that you're just going to avert at the last second."

"Maybe She was trying to prove something?" Aziraphale fiddled with his wine glass. 

"Prove what? And to who?" Crowley snorted. "If anything, She was just messing with us." 

"Crowley!" Aziraphale swatted his arm before continuing. “I would _like_ to think perhaps She was proving free will. Maybe that’s what She gave them to make up for...everything else.” 

“To make up for the everlasting suffering and pain that _She_ created?” 

“She also created love,” Aziraphale said, a little defensively, “and I - I don’t think love could exist without pain.” He looked up into Crowley’s sharp gaze, and it felt like every molecule in the room came to a standstill. 

"I just..." Crowley wrenched his eyes away and cast them around the room, desperately looking for his words. "I don't know what kind of God encourages twenty million angels and demons to prepare for a war for six thousand years, only to save the Earth at the last minute, without telling anyone. I mean, She shared the rest of the Plan with us, didn't She? So why was Earth's salvation the only redacted part of that memo? What was the point? Why _does_ She need to prove a point about Her own creations?" Crowley sighed, and his head fell back onto the couch. He looked up, eyes reaching far past the ceiling. 

"I understand," Aziraphale said.

"Don't say that," Crowley replied sharply, quickly turning to look at him. Aziraphale looked swiftly back up at him, taking in everything the sunglasses normally hid. He shifted a little closer to Crowley. Their shoulders bumped, and Crowley leaned in, ever so slightly and cautiously chasing the smallest touch. Then their upper arms were pressed up against each other, and Crowley relaxed, feeling the angel's warmth soak through his jacket and settle in his bones. 

“I’d go with you to Alpha Centauri,” Aziraphale said, so quiet Crowley half thought he was imagining it, “because I want to, not because I have to. I’d leave the second you asked, and I wouldn’t look back, whether it’s in two weeks or another six thousand years. Okay?” 

“Oh-” Crowley said, feeling like he was back on the wall in Eden, in a Roman pub, a bombed church, a car in 1967, a burning bookshop- “okay.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at the angel, but heard Aziraphale let out a relieved sigh and felt him place his head on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Do you think She planned...this?” Aziraphale asked after a long moment, making a vague gesture, and Crowley knew he wasn’t talking about the apocalypse. He smiled. 

“I don’t think anyone could have planned us, angel,” Crowley said. 

And so, that was it. Maybe the apocalypse would come back, maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe one day Alpha Centauri would be joined on its lonely orbit by two ethereal (or, depending on who you ask, occult) beings. But somewhere, in a cramped London bookshop, and in an airy Mayfair flat, an angel and a demon had far more important things to think about - mainly, each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all!! thank you for reading!! it's been forever since i've written fic so it's very exciting that this is out in the world and all!  
> second: i normally don't listen/don't care about what neilman says on his tumblr BUT he did say that aziraphale has the winnie the pooh series (written by a.a.milne) memorized and i could not pass up an opportunity to squeeze that in there  
> third: for tv only fans: i lifted crowley's voicemail straight from the book, not the show  
> fourth: stream starsick by maude latour on spotify ! that's where i got all those fun lyrics at the beginning of the chapters  
> last: you can find me on tumblr [@thirteenthdyke](https://thirteenthdyke.tumblr.com) where i'm still losing my shit over gomens! and thank you AGAIN for reading. literally can not tell u all how much it means to me :,)


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